


Justice of the Duke

by TonyStarkisababe1967



Category: Psych
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt Shawn, Hurt/Comfort, I actually really like it, I guess hurt and comfort?? there's not really any comfort, I wrote this a while ago and have been editing for months, It's supposed to be like files that you're able to read, No Romance, Police things happen, Shawn Whump, Shawn gets kidnapped, The duke - Freeform, classic bad guys, no happy ending, there's violence so be ready
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-06-01 13:05:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15143687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TonyStarkisababe1967/pseuds/TonyStarkisababe1967
Summary: The Duke was back. Things were looking grim in the Santa Barbara Police Station knowing the cop killer could strike at any moment. Shawn kept the mood light, but how much longer could he do that for? How about after the killer came after him? It’s a twisted road for everyone’s favorite characters, and only fairy tales have happy endings. (Told through a series of police statements, coroner reports, interviews, and other paperwork left open to the public)





	1. Shawn's Statement Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I wrote this a while back and I finally want to post it. I have the full thing done so updates will happen fast. Basically the idea was that I wanted to tell a story in a unique way so everything in this fic is either a police statement, a coroner report, or something like that. I hope you guys like it and please please please comment because I love hearing feedback from your guys.

Shawn’s Statement Part 1:

The last time I wrote a paper was, like, 10th grade, so bare with me here. Lassie keeps telling me that this is serious and I shouldn’t make up stuff, but, I mean, it’s me. You expect me to not make jokes?  
Look, this whole thing is heavy for me and I’m not really even sure if I’m ready, you know, ment-italy, to write a statement. I asked the chief and she said that I could do this any way I wanted, any way that would make it easier for me. For me? Easy is making a story. I know it’s not a healthy coping mechanism to distance yourself from traumatic events, my mom is a psychologist after all, but this is just how I do. Plus, a story has to end right? That’s good. I’d like this one to end. So here it is. Try to keep up, slow pokes.

Shawn Spencer, on November 3rd, was riding his bike. He was on his way over to the Santa Barbara police station in order to bug his favorite head detective, Carlton Lassiter. Shawn weaved around the nearly empty roads, seeing as how it was 5:30 am and most people were sleeping peacefully, dreading the pull of their alarm clocks. Shawn was up because he had woken at about three to the thunderstorm that left the roads wet and slippery, and even as a boy Shawn had loved to watch rain pitter down the glass window and lightening illuminate the sky. When the dew drops had stopped falling, Shawn sensed something exciting was going to happen, so he hopped on his bike, pulled on his helmet, and sped off to the precinct. It was chilly out, the breath of November cooling them all down from the abnormally warm weather of October.  
He arrived at the police department that morning with a feeling that things were going to be alright. The spirits mislead him. Detective Lassiter was the first person to confront him that fine morning, as he usually was. Instead of irritation, however, there was sparks of worry and fear across his face.  
“Spencer, chief's office. Now.” He told the psychic deeply. Shawn nodded in agreement, seeing the serious attitude everyone in the station held and sensing the terror and anticipation of each officer, and followed the Head Detective. He got into the office and stood in the back behind Detective Juliet O’Hara and Lassiter, who took the chairs.  
“Nice to see you Mr. Spencer.” The chief greeted him. He gave her a salute.  
“How’s it going, chief?” She sighed.  
“Unfortunately not good. As Detectives O'Hara and Lassiter know, The Duke is back.” Shawn became rigid as he leaned against the back wall. He had heard that name before, years ago.  
“The cop killer?” He asked, and the chief nodded.  
“As we all know, the Duke is a deeply disturbed man who thinks that the scales of justice are tipped. He resurfaces every blue moon when he feels the police need to be punished. Whether this be for brutality, unsolved cases, or even for putting a criminal in jail for more than a lifetime. He deems any of these actions unjust. We don't know why he’s back this time. As far as we know, nothing bad within the Santa Barbara police force has happened.” She picked up a slip of paper on her desk. It was crumpled and torn in several places. “The Duke left this on the doorsteps of the precinct this morning, No security cameras picked him up.” She turned the paper around revealing slick cursive lettering.  
Time to come out and have a little brawl- The Duke.  
Shawn scoffed after he read the note. Everyone turned to look at him.  
“Something funny, Spencer?” Lassiter growled at him.  
“Sorry, just, really, who names themself ‘The Duke’?”

Yes, I have to admit, I was acting childish and immature. This is normal for me, but in this situation I should have toned it down. Honestly, I was nervous. When I was around 10 the Duke resurfaced for the 3rd time, and I feared for my dad’s life every time he went to work. I was glad when another officer was kidnapped- how sick is that? I just wanted it to not be my father. Anyway, back to the story.

“Mr. Spencer, I expect that you will be taking this case very seriously. Normally, we would keep as much people as we can out of it, but seeing as how you are not an official officer, we hope that The Duke will not chose you as a target and you will be able to investigate freely.”

Okay, not to put all the blame on the chief or anything- let’s be honest, if she hadn’t put me on the case I would have wiggled myself into it anyway- but she was dead wrong. 

When Shawn left the police station on that wet and mucky November 3rd, it was 11:45 at night. He had spent a long day going over every single piece of evidence they had on this guy- possible suspects, possible locations, possible targets. The spirits, however, were being quiet and didn’t feel like revealing anything to him. 

Maybe if the spirits hadn’t been such soggy marshmallows, this whole thing could have been avoided. Maybe if I had stayed at the police station just a few hours more I would have been safe. Maybe if I wasn't psychic I would have never been a target.  
Okay that last one wasn’t a maybe, it was a definite. Again, not to blame the chief or the officers or anything, but we really should have taken into consideration that my flailing around and psychic gifts might make some people angry. One of the people could be The Duke.

Shawn biked home, though now the air was frigid instead of cool and the roads were icy instead of glistening. Shawn thought through the case in head. The spirits weren’t picking anything up on The Duke, and the spirits almost never held out on him. There was just no evidence, no clues that lead to anyone being the mastermind behind this psychopath’s schemes.  
Shawn turned the corner and got into his apartment with ease, the key sliding easily into the knob. He knew he had to work fast, after sending the note The Duke would kidnap an officer within the next 24 hours. Shawn had to find the guy, he had to stop him before he could hurt anyone. With a sigh, he removed his sneakers, put on his pajamas, and fell down on the bed. He usually wasn’t that tired, but the day had been long. He assumed that’s why he was out like a light within five minutes.  
When he woke up he knew immediately that something was wrong, that he wasn’t in his bed anymore. The floor below him was hard, and cold. His blue plaid pants were torn and wet in a few places, his red flannel was rolled up to his sleeves, and the white tank-top under it wasn’t providing any warmth. He sat up and looked around, noticing the designs of some kind of basement. He stood up, albeit dizzily, and stumbled over to the staircase. He climbed up and took a close look at the door on the top. It was solid metal, a few large locks obviously holding it closed. He went back down the stairs with newfound vigor and scoped out the area for any kind of escape. The only thing that led to outside was a small window, not small enough for him to fit through, but enough for him to see that snow was falling. Instead of glass, the window was blocked by metal bars, each one about 2 inches thick and deeply buried in the concrete above and below them. They let a freezing draft come in, causing Shawn’s neck hair to shiver and his arms to wrap around themselves trying to provide warmth.  
The psychic tried to talk to the spirits, but they seemed to be shut off. Instead, he relied on his observational skills, noticing things using the adrenalin that enhanced his senses. The basement included a large metal table, steel by the looks of it. Broken rope lay all over the ground, along with a few pairs of handcuffs and metal chains. To the left of the staircase laid a door, and when Shawn opened it he found a bathroom. Instead of a curtain on the shower, there was a large metal door that Shawn couldn’t get open.  
A sound from outside the bathroom drew his attention from trying to fix his hair in the mirror. He picked up the nearest thing he could find that could cause damage and snuck out of the bathroom. He was met with the back of a young man, around his height. Thick black hair covered his head, and stubble was embedded on his chin. The man looked familiar, though Shawn couldn’t place why.  
The man’s eyes were a greyish blue, which is this lighting took on a more light and colorless tone. They were angry and cold, but a bit of delight shun in his irises.The two met eyes, both taking each other in.  
He looked at Shawn’s plunger, held out like a sword, then back at...at his gun, he was aiming at my- the psychic’s chest.

Sorry, I just need to take a break. I’ll get back to it later.


	2. Shawn's Statement Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know if anyone is reading this but here's the second chapter if you are. It's a little short but things start to get interesting in Chapter 3 and only pick up from there, so if you stick with me I'll try my best not to disappoint. Sorry for any spelling/ grammar errors, I am only human after all and don't have anyone to edit. Thank you for anyone who is reading!!! Let me know what you think or if I should bother posting the rest of it (there are 9 chapters)

Shawn’s Statement Part 2  
So Lassiter is standing right outside the interrogation room and I know he’s staring at me, even though it’s one way glass. The spirits say he looks angry, but I know he’s just being a concerned papa bear. He’s making sure I don’t freak out or anything while I write this, but it’s really hard to focus with him standing there like that. Also I’d rather be taking a nap right now, but, well, you know what they say. “Miles to go before I sleep” and all that.

Sorry it’s taking so long. I know I should be getting back to the story now, but it’s hard, you know? It’s hard to remember.

The gun barrel peered down into Shawn’s heart, trampling through his mind and convincing his lungs that they couldn’t breathe. He’d faced down plenty of guns before, but he knew far down there was no way to talk himself out of this one. He was in deep. The Duke had him, and no one had ever escaped before.  
“Hello, psychic.” Shawn swallowed and plastered on a grin.  
“Hey, Duke.” The man laughed, gesturing with the gun for him to put the plunger down. Shawn complied.  
“I’m glad you’re awake, it’s sooner than I expected though.”  
“Oh, really? Sorry to disappoint.” He laughed this time, trying to sound confident like the other man, but it came out more like a nervous chuckle. “It’s weird, usually I’m really late. I’ve never been early before.”  
Shawn saw the man pull the trigger. It wasn’t like in the Tv shows where ‘the next thing he knew there was a bullet in his leg’. No, he saw the whole thing play out. He saw the trigger being pulled, the bullet coming out at top speeds, and in less than a second, Shawn was on the ground with a hole in his thigh. He yelled, despite himself, and clutched the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. He heard in the distance The Duke laughing, laughing at him in pain, and as everything became slow and cloudy, as consciousness pulled him away and confusion swept over him, as he blacked out suddenly, he knew he was screwed.

Look, I know the chief said to add as much detail that I could, but I just can’t. I’ll skip to the rescue.

Shawn shook as he stood in the shower, hands held above his head, attached to the pipe leading to the shower head. The warm, no- burning water, had shut off a little bit ago. He could now breathe more easily, without the water pouring down his face and into his nose and mouth, blocking his breath. He was left instead to wait, standing, feet sore and blood dripping down his back. All his wounds had reopened in the ‘shower’, if you could even call it that. The Duke did. He said it was a treat for Shawn for being one of his favorite victims. For putting up more of a fight, he said it was fun, he said…  
Anyway, Shawn worked on trying to get the bobby pin off the floor to unlock the handcuffs that were holding him there. He had been trying since he got in there to reach it, obviously The Duke had put it there on purpose, but as the temperature dropped more and more behind the metal door holding him, it was getting harder to concentrate. The small open barred window didn’t help. By this point, snow was building up on the sill, and the occasional flake drifted onto his face and a few stray pieces of white hit his back.  
His pants were still soaked in the quickly cooling water, the blue plaid now marked with red and stained with dirt. They clung to his legs uncomfortably, but that was the least of his problems.  
When the first spray of frigid, freezing, breath-taking water hit him, he hadn’t expected it. He had actually slightly fallen asleep, exhaustion taking over. It only lasted for a few seconds, but it did enough to snap Spencer up and yell, the ice-cold liquid rolling through his hair, down his face, on his bare bloody chest, and down his back. It chilled him to the core.  
The wind outside seemed to pick up, making the cold linger on him, freezing in some spots. His face felt stiff from the hard water that had dried and froze there. Shivers wracked his body.  
The fifth time the cold water suffocated him, he had caused it on purpose. He had a theory that it only came when he closed his eyes or looked like he was resting. He was right. This time it came out harder and faster, burning his skin as he gasped, trying to catch his breath. He had lost feeling in his arms a few hours ago due to them being tied above his head, but now his feet were numb too because of the cold.

I stood like that for 3 days. One time, I fell asleep, more like passed out, for 3 minutes before I woke from the spray. I’ve never been that cold in my life. He let me out once a day for a few moments in privacy to go to the bathroom, but other than those small minutes I was trapped in the dark and frigid steel room.  
The Duke was crazy. Completely. He told me that I deserved what he was doing to me. That I never treated serious cases with the right amount of respect.  
I had figured out on the first day of my torture that The Duke was a cop. There was no other way he could poison me to make me groggy and tired. How else would he have had access to the security cameras in order to make it so he was never there? How else would he have known what was going on in the police station?  
So yeah, I concluded right from the beginning that The Duke was an officer of Santa Barbara.  
Of course, that information didn’t really help me when I was freezing to death handcuffed to a shower head.  
Look, I’m sure the other’s can fill you in on the rest, so let’s just go through it all briefly.  
I was kidnapped, I went over that.  
I was tortured, Lassie can go over that.  
I was saved, you’ll get that later.  
The end, I’m going to sleep, because in case you forget I’m still in the freaking hospital with hypothermia, broken ribs, a bullet wound, severe burns, frostbite on my feet and back, and I can’t move my fingers.


	3. Therapy Sessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though I'm not really getting any feedback I'm gonna keep posting chapters because I really like this story. If you like this story please let me know I 'm not sure if I should bother continuing if no one is reading. Anyway, here's the 3rd chapter- I hope you enjoy!

Therapy Sessions  
Session 1: 12/ 05/ 09  
Doctor Name: Deborah Oakley  
Patient Name: Shawn Spencer  
Emergency Contacts: Henry Spencer, Burton Guster  
Previous Therapy: Trauma Institute for Stable Patients- 2 weeks  
Notes:  
Patient, Shawn Spencer, came into my office 3 weeks after his incident. He was brought in by recommendation from the institute, hospital, family, and many other psychiatrists. Though his father, Henry Spencer, had told me to be careful because the last therapist Shawn had visited wound up quitting and going to college to become a computer programmer because “At least then she could avoid people”, I was not worried going into our first visit.  
While some of the notes I received from the Trauma Institute had alarmed me, I tried not to let them change my perspective of the situation. Some of these notes included:  
“Patient sprayed a bottle of fake blood over his room’s door because ‘it helped him cope with the recent loss of his cat’.” This alarmed me at first, seeing as how this was highly crazed and unhealthy, however on further investigation it was revealed that Shawn Spencer did not and has never owned a cat.  
“Patient convinced Head Detective of the Santa Barbara Police Station, Carlton Lassiter, to smuggle him in: His black ACDC shirt, a flannel, his DS, and fuzzy socks.”  
“Patient covered his roommate’s (a young war veteran who was recently wounded in action) side of the room completely in printed out pictures of Shrek. While this caused everyone to laugh and the injured man to come out of his shell, we are unsure of how he got the pictures because the institute does not have a printer.”  
“Patient’s hands have almost fully healed from the circulation and nerve damage, however he still insists on wearing the braces. We believe it is psychological.”  
“Patient refuses to eat unless a pineapple is present. Possible eating disorder.” I have looked into this and I believe Shawn simply was messing with the workers, as it seems was pretty usual for him.  
“Patient has become ‘a jelly bean dealer’ to our other patients. He charges one smile for a pack. We are unsure of how he gets them in, as we do not sell them here nor allow sugary foods into the institute.”  
“Patient will not stop quoting “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost every night. He also will not tell us why.  
“Patient still uses forearm braces in order to walk. He has been going to physical therapy and is on the road for improvement, however it would help if he stopped doing wheelchair races with the amputee from the next room over.”  
As you can see, some of the notes show the attitude of a young man who is ready to move on with his life, but something is holding him back.  
He checked out of the institute early, against his doctor’s wishes, and moved in temporarily with his father.  
When Shawn first crutched into my office, I was surprised that this was the man I had read about in the reports and notes of the doctors at the institute. I had pictured an older gentleman, though I knew he was only 30, with kind eyes and a gentle demeanor. In the notes it was shown that he was caring and tried to boost morale at the institute, however the man who stumbled into my office with his father’s hand resting on his back for support was the one in need of a moral boost.  
The patient’s eyes were cold and distant, and his smile was forced as he said a quirky greeting.  
The patient has gone through a horrible and traumatic incident, and he is not very open about the events, but I think with some more sessions I can get to the root of his problem.

Session 3: 12/18/09  
Doctor Name: Deborah Oakley  
Patient Name: Shawn Spencer  
Emergency Contacts: Henry Spencer, Burton Guster  
Previous Therapy: Trauma Institute for Stable Patients- 2 weeks  
Notes:  
The patient crutched into my office again today, and although we have discussed it, he still insists he need the hand braces. He tells me he experiences twitches and has trouble grasping smaller things with his fingers. I told him that the doctor said his nerves and blood flow is healed, however he seems to believe that the doctor made a mistake.  
Shawn Spencer has been going to physical therapy and is making great progress with his walking. He tells me that his feet no longer hurt, so he no longer needs fuzzy socks as extra comfort, and he’s much happier living at home with his father.  
I am starting to see while his past experience with other therapists have failed. He refused to refer to my work as anything other than “mind vudu” and tells people he is visiting a “shrink”. Though I have told him these are insulting and false, he seems to stay persistent. I don’t believe he is doing it to hurt me, he just finds it hard to remember he doesn’t have to put up a sarcastic barrier around his feelings.  
Another thing I have found interesting about Shawn is that I can never seem to tell if he is lying or not. Usually I can read guilt and lies off of people easily, however with Shawn it is like he was trained to hide his tells.  
Although the have hit some stunts in our talks, today we have reached a milestone as Shawn revealed to me that he is scared of showers and can’t stand to be in them for too long. This is supported by notes from the institute as they say the patient had never taken more than 4 minutes in the bathroom

Session 6: 1/15/10  
Doctor Name: Deborah Oakley  
Patient Name: Shawn Spencer  
Emergency Contacts: Henry Spencer, Burton Guster  
Previous Therapy: Trauma Institute for Stable Patients- 2 weeks  
Notes:  
The patient full heartedly believes that he is psychic. There is not a doubt in my mind that Shawn trusts what his mind is telling him. Though it is impossible, I have listened to his spiel of his powers and I humor him when he brings it up. He also somehow convinced half of Santa Barbara's Police station. I do not understand how something so preposterous could be expected.  
The patient also tells me that he thinks the moon landing was a hoax, Elvis was actually a monkey in disguise, and Michael Jackson is the devil. As with the psychic deal, I think the patient full heartedly believes everything he claims is true. I think that if it escalates, Shawn Spencer should institutionalized for delusions, Narcissistic personality, and compulsive lying.

 

Session 7: 1/22/10  
Doctor Name: Deborah Oakley  
Patient Name: Shawn Spencer  
Emergency Contacts: Henry Spencer, Burton Guster  
Previous Therapy: Trauma Institute for Stable Patients- 2 weeks  
Notes:  
While in the beginning of the session I was skeptical, I now believe that Shawn Spencer is an extraordinary man with otherworldly skills. There’s not a doubt in my mind that he is psychic. He told me things no one could possibly know. He said things about myself that I didn’t even know. Perhaps he should be a therapist, not me. The patient seems to not have any physiological damage. I believe everything he does is a joke. He is absolutely mentally stable, but I think a few more visits will not do him any harm.

Session 9: 1/31/10  
Doctor Name: Deborah Oakley  
Patient Name: Shawn Spencer  
Emergency Contacts: Henry Spencer, Burton Guster  
Previous Therapy: Trauma Institute for Stable Patients- 2 weeks  
Notes:  
Shawn Spencer is my saint. I look forward to each meeting with him so I can absorb some of his wisdom. He is the therapist now and I’m the patient. The woods are lovely dark and deep, so they say. Miles to go before I sleep!

Special Note from another healthcare official:  
After the Tenth Session with Shawn Spencer, the therapist Deborah Oakley was institutionalized for paranoid schizophrenia and delusional behavior.


	4. Chapter 4

Lassiter’s Statement Part 1  
On November 3rd, 2009, Shawn Spencer was kidnapped by The Duke, real name Officer Corby Duller. The victim was administered a drug while at Santa Barbara police station, which affected him when he arrived at him apartment. He passed out and was taken by The Duke. When I, Carlton Lassiter, arrived at the scene, there was no evidence that anyone had been there. No fingerprints were present and at first we were unsure if it had been a kidnapping, however when we found a note from The Duke claiming that the victim was with him, we knew we had to act.  
Before, The Duke took victims for one week before finally killing them and leading the police towards the body through an untraceable tip.  
For two days we searched extensively in the area, for two more days we tried to figure out who The Duke was, and on the fifth day of victims torture we figured out that The Duke was Officer Corby Duller. We checked out his home location, but he was nowhere to be seen.  
Duller had no family, no friends, he stayed distant, and we should have seen it before.  
When we attempted to track Spencer’s phone it was revealed to be thrown in a ditch on the side of the highway, obvious discarded for this very reason. The only thing we could rely on was following the trail and hoping we stumbled upon something.  
We got lucky.  
It was the seventh day of the Victim's capture when we saw a clue. Beads. There was a trail of beads on the highway leading from the broken red glass of a taillight. Spencer must have kicked it out and then broke one of his necklaces. The beads were easy to see against the black pavement, seeing as how they were red and white, but when it came to a dirt road that they led to we had a harder time following them. Eventually, however, because it had rained the day Spencer went missing, tire marks were shown imprinted in the mud underneath a thin coating of snow. Myself, 10 officers, and SWAT raided the area, quickly scoping out every room. The officers and I broke down the basement door, which was empty. We were about to leave when we heard muffled yelling from the bathroom. We barged in and unlocked the steel door that blocked off the shower from the room. The victim was inside, handcuffed to the shower head, in just pajama pants and a few necklaces. He grinned when he saw us and we got him out. Later, after finding Duller in an upstairs room with a controller for the water pump, we concluded that he had been monitoring the victim and changing the temperature and pressure of the shower water. I was later informed he was shot in the heart by a SWAT team member.  
Spencer was immediately given to an ambulance that had followed us to the scene and he was driven to the hospital.  
When I went back into the basement, I found many torture devices including:  
A long bladed knife  
A small dagger  
An iron rod  
A tazor  
Rope  
After sent to the lab we have the information that Spenc- the victim’s blood was on each item.

 

Medical Report:  
Patient was driven to hospital in an ambulance on November 10th, 2009. He was experiencing difficulty in breathing. He had 3 cracked ribs, but none of them had penetrated the lungs. He was bleeding heavily from the wrists. Lacerations were found looped around, appearing to be from handcuffs. He had frostbite on his feet and back. Patient had passed out in the ambulance from exhaustion, but woke after arriving in the hospital. He complained from searing pain in his legs and arms and that he could not feel his hands or feet. We took scans and looked at his nerves, seeing extensive damage in his fingers. His feet were also suffering nerve damage from the frostbite.  
Patient had a deep laceration on his cheek and forehead, assumingly from a small blade. He had what appeared to be cuts and burns from a branding iron. The cuts were stitched, 17 stitches on his back, 23 on his stomach, 10 on his head, and 12 on his arms.  
The patient immediately tried to get out of the hospital, refused care, and we had to wait for his father to show up before continuing our help.   
The patient was asked to stay until he had figured out how to use the forearm crutches, but he refused. Eventually, his father made a deal that he could leave if he went to a long term care facility. The patient agreed, and we recommended the Trauma Institute for Stable Patients.

The patient was readmitted to the ER on December 1st, 2009, driven by his father after complaining of chest pain. When he arrived we determined that the patient had cracked one of his healing ribs. His father told us he had fallen and slipped while not using his crutches. We did new tests and determined that the patient’s nerve damage was still healing in both his feet, however his hands had been healed. Spencer still complained of pain in his fingers, and we recommending seeing a therapist again. Patient laughed.

The patient, Shawn Spencer, came into our ER again December 10th, asking if his stitches could be removed. We told him we would like him to wait a few more weeks and that he would have to consult the hospital, not the ER. He seemed to accept the fact but told us he was itchy.

Shawn Spencer arrived at the ER in an ambulance from the SBPD, the Head Detective followed the ambulance and said that Shawn had passed out at the station. His back was bleeding and he was feverish. One of the stitches on his back had become infected. We removed the stitches and bandaged the wound after applying antibiotics. We gave him a prescription bottle of medication to fight the infection.

Shawn showed up again today and asked if we all wanted to go out to lunch sometime. I think we’re gonna go for smoothies after work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm awful. I have been working on other stuff so I haven't updated. Here is is tho....please don't kill me. It'll start to pick up soon I promise. Any encouragement would speed it up!


	5. Chapter 5

Interview with Shawn Spencer and Carlton Lassiter with the SB new station.  
Reporter: Hello, Mr. Spencer. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us today.  
Shawn: It’s my pleasure.  
Carlton: Listen, Spencer is supposed to be at psychical therapy, can we keep this short?  
Reporter: Um, sure. Yeah. So, Shawn, may I call you Shawn? What did you miss most during your seven days of captivity?  
Carlton: I don’t think that’s an appropri-  
Shawn: Pineapple smoothies. There is nothing in the world like one of those delicious, sweet, cold, gifts from God.  
Reporter: So would you say pineapple smoothies are your favorite drinks?  
Shawn: Not just smoothies, and not just drinks, anything pineapple is fine by me. Favorite food, no doubt about it. Maybe even my favorite thing, but I’ll have to put some thought into that. I already promised the stuffed monkey I have in my office that position and he gets jealous.  
Reporter: You’re office? As in the psych office?  
Shawn: You betcha.  
Reporter: So, will you be continuing now that you are out of the hospital and on the way to healing completely-  
Shawn: Well, not completely.  
Reporter: No?  
Shawn: No, it’s, uh, been revealed to be by the doctor’s that the nerve damage in my hands haven’t actually healed, there was glitch in their systems.  
Reporter: So what does this mean for you?  
Shawn: I won’t be able to use my hands. I mean, I can feel things with them, but I can’t grab things, or hold things, or do this.  
Reporter: You’re psychic pose?  
Shawn: Yeah, Lassie won’t have to worry about being bothered by that anymore.  
Reporter: Detective, will you miss seeing Shawn’s signature pose?  
Carlton: That’s head detective, and I’m sure he’ll figure out some other nonsense symbol to do when ‘talking to spirits’.  
Shawn: Just admit that you love me, Lassie. My little horse must think it queer!  
Carlton: I would rather repeat 7th grade.  
Reporter: So, Detective-  
Carlton: Head detective.  
Reporter: You’re saying you feel no sympathy for Shawn’s situation at all?  
Carlton: Yes. I mean, no, I meant no. I mean, yes I feel bad for Shawn, he went through a traumatic-  
Shawn: Aw, you do love me!  
Carlton: Hey, stop writing this down. This isn’t part of the interview. I will arrest you if you keep writing.  
Shawn: Hey, this has been fun and all but I gotta go to psychical therapy-  
Carlton: Stop writing, erase that, erase that part of the conversation.   
Reporter: Okay, thank you for taking time to answer my questions. I hope you get better soon.  
Carlton: I will call the police on you- stop writing this!  
Shawn: Lassie, you are the police.  
Carlton: C’mon let’s go.

 

Psychic or Psychotic?  
As everyone in Santa Barbara knows, our resident psychic detective was kidnapped and tortured by a corrupt police officer who claimed that the gifted man was disrespectful and that he makes a joke out of the deaths of our loved ones. The Duke, or Corby Duller, is a renowned cop killer who has tortured and murdered 5 cops in the last 3 years. Apparently, the Duke didn’t take too kindly to the psychic’s methods of crime solving.  
I, myself, have seen Shawn Spencer in action. It’s true that his ways are unorthodox and sometimes shine light on things we would rather keep in the dark, but he has prevented hundreds of deaths and caught over 26 killers in the past year. Some, however, don’t see this man as a hero, but instead as a crazy maniac wreaking havoc on our crime scenes.  
Our reporters here at Sunshine Newspaper have been investigating the man, and have found some pretty interesting things. For one, Shawn Spencer has stayed in a mental institute for a few weeks in the past. His friends claim it was for an investigation, but in the words of Head Detective Carlton Lassiter, “The man probably should be institutionalized. He definitely has a few marbles missing.” After talking with a few more of Mr. Spencer’s associates, it has been revealed that the psychic may have some other things in his head besides the spirits. We looked into a claim that Shawn had been admitted to a long term care facility which helped people with PTSD and long lasting injuries. Is the psychic’s gig up? Do we want this man at crime scenes, do we want him accusing people, possibly falsely, of murder? These are things we must ask ourselves when facing a situation like this.   
Unfortunately, we were never able to ask Officer Duller why he had kidnapped the psychic because he was shot in the chest when confronted by the Swat force. If we could ask him, however, I think he would say what is on a lot of our minds; Spencer corrupts the law and disrespects the people of Santa Barbara. The man is unstable, with miles to go before he sleeps. Is our killer correct? Should we let Spencer into our lives and homes when he’s investigating? Is he psychic, or is he just psychotic?

 

Coroner report:  
Hello this is Woody. Victim was a 31 year old male, dark hair, dark eyes, short beard on chin. COD was a bullet to the chest shot from point blank range. Many other injuries are present including scars on his chest, arms, and stomach. Victim was an officer of the Santa Barbara Police Station.  
It appears as though the victim ate tacos a few days before he died. Don’t know what that has to do with anything, but….There was no alcohol or drugs in his system except for what appears to be antipsychotics.   
He’s been, um, the victim’s been gone for 3 days.


	6. Statements

Lassiter’s Statement Part 2  
Preceding the events from November 4th to November 10, the officers of Santa Barbara kept a close eye on Shawn Spencer. He began working cases again, starting small, after being able to walk again without assistance. We improved security in the station and did new background checks on all officers. No big crime happened for awhile, and it seemed as though wrongdoers were taking some kind of break after the events with the Duke. That is, until we got a second note.  
It was delivered, put on my desk. No security cameras had seen anyone put it there, just one frame my desk was clear the next frame the note was there.  
(Pause)  
I took it immediately into the chief's office and handed it to her. She opened it and asked if I had read it yet, but I told her I hadn’t. We both knew what the note was. Chief Vick instructed me to gather up Junior Detective Juliet O'hara, private detective Shawn Spencer, and his partner Burton Guster. They were all around the station so in a matter of minutes we had all gathered in the office. 

 

Burton Guster’s Statement Part 1  
I wasn’t there for the first time Shawn got kidnapped, but I came back as soon as Henry called me and told me he was officially missing. I didn’t get there until a couple days after the capture, so I was there for the rescue, hospital visits, the trauma institute, and all the physical therapy stuff. 

(pause)  
No, I didn’t- I mean, I didn’t think anything was wrong with him. He was acting strange, sure, but strange is normal for him. With the whole hand issue thing, I honestly thought he would be worse. Shawn took it better than anyone else I know.  
(Pause)  
Well, if someone else were to go what he went through I think they would be a little more messed up.  
(pause)  
Yeah, I know- he was messed up Lassiter. Just shut up already.  
(pause)  
Sorry.  
(Pause)  
I was giving my statement, you interrupted me!  
So, everything was fine. Shawn was fine, I was fine, everyone was fine.  
Then you got that stupid note on your desk…. Well, we went into Chief Vick’s office and gathered around. Shawn took the chair, that was normal though after the kidnapping cause his legs were still kind of weak, and I think you-  
(pause)  
Fine, Detective Lassiter took the other chair, and Juliet and I stood in the back.  
I think Shawn knew what it was before the Chief told us.  
He just kind of had this look on his face, like he was scared or something. He kept his hands in his pocket and didn’t react when the Chief told us and read the note.  
(Pause)  
Yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever forget what it said.

Juliet’s Statement  
“The game isn’t over- The Duke.” The cop killer was dead, we were sure of it, but this meant something almost worse than him being alive.  
It meant possible copycats. Or a partner.  
And they were targeting the station.  
Specifically, Private Investigator Shawn Spencer.  
(Pause)  
Shawn’s reaction? Normal, I guess? I mean, he didn’t start freaking out or anything. He kind of just nodded, asked a few questions. May I ask why you’re doing these orally?  
(pause)  
The Chief said that? I don’t think whether we address it on paper or out loud will change anything. What happened happened. Everyone needs to learn to cope and babying us like this isn’t helping.  
(Pause)  
Yes, I’m coping fine, Carlton! Can we please get back to my statement? Anyway, We immediately began looking at who had the information about what actually happened the first time- with- with Shawn, I mean. When he was first taken. But the official report with all the details had never really got out, so it had to have been in inside job. At first we thought it could have been another officer, trying to pick up where Duller had left off. We had done all the background checks we could manage, however, and nothing had come up. So, we had to consider the fact that the Duke must have had a partner.  
(Pause)  
You know how Shawn reacted when he heard!  
(Pause)  
I know. I know I have to say it for the record…..Shawn wasn’t happy. He demanded he get some kind of protection, in his classic Shawn Spencer way, of course- acting like everything was a joke. We had never thought the Duke would be the kind to have someone working with him, so we weren’t really sure where to start.

Lassiter’s Statement Part 3  
The police force of Santa Barbara took the consultant, Mr. Spencer, to the crime scene where he had previously been the victim of the first attack of the Duke. It was ill advised and dangerous for his health but it was necessary and he was willing to do it in order to help catch Duller's partner.  
When we got there, we found a body. Mr. Spencer and his partner Burton Guster were escorted immediately off of the property and we began our investigation after the death was called in. By analyzing the body and circumstances, we found that the body, a man in the 30’s, had been drugged, kidnapped, and tortured until his inevitable death, a gunshot wound to the heart. Just as Corby Duller had been killed. We chalked this up to be a warning from Duller’s partner.  
There was a note found along with the body, which we did not let Mr. Spencer see, though it was directed towards him. The note read-

Burton Guster's Statement Part 2  
Shawn knew what it said. He had seen it. Somehow. I don’t know how, he just knew. Psychic vision I guess. “This will be you, Shawn.” Directly, just like that. Like, the guy could have at least had the decency to call him Spencer, or psychic, or anything other than just name dropping him, but….  
So Shawn told me what it said I told him to tell Lassie and then he told me that I was crazy and that we were gonna catch this guy. Just him and me. He said he didn’t want anyone else getting hurt.  
He didn’t seem scared. That was my problem, he just didn’t seem scared at all. Like, there was a guy dead inside that house and the man had been tortured and then shot and the body had looked pretty fresh and I mean, it looked bad. It was bad. He just didn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are picking up!!!! 3 more chapters to go!! thanks for everyone who is reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Coroner’s Report Part 2:  
Alright here we go. The victim has obviously been tortured along with the bullet wound to his chest and cracked ribs, lacerations, a little old but I can’t tell really without looking deeper and, well, I’d rather not. Doesn’t really matter, right? We caught the guy. So yeah, torture. Burns, some healed. Probably a few weeks, maybe a month tops. He has some sort of drug in his system, I’ll send it down to toxicology to see exactly what. He was beaten severely before he died, you can tell by the bruises, both internal and external.  
Henry Spencer’s Statement Part 1  
When Shawn was kidnapped the first time they wouldn’t let me actively work on the case. The second time, nothing could stop me.  
They figured out who the partner of the original guy who took my son was before it even happened. They should have found the perp earlier. Or put more protection on Shawn. But it’s too late for that now. He was actually staying at my house, and he went for midnight walk. He did that a lot once he came back the first time. Said it cleared his head. Just like in that poem he always loved. By Robert Frost I think. “Stopping by the Woods” or something. He said it made his feet feel nice. He also told us it helped him imagine himself as the astronaut he wanted to be, so who knew how much he said was actually gibberish. Funny thing was I remember when he was a kid that’s all the wanted to do. Travel to space. Mainly get as far away from here as possible.  
He never came back to the house that night, so I immediately called it into the station around 4 am. Shawn usually was home by then. They sent a few cars, did a scout of the area, and declared him missing. Again.  
In order to find him, we had to dig up all the resources we could. Gus and I basically called everyone we knew, and everyone Shawn knew, which turned out to be a lot of people. We made a search party 70 people big just from his friends from odd jobs throughout the years. Some poor guy had come all the way from Canada.  
And so we started searching. First, we went around where the first body had been found. Then the second one. Yeah, there was a second body found in the woods, same cause of death and torture marks. Woody says he may have been tortured for up to a month before hand. By the time of the 3rd day, the search party included almost every client Shawn had ever had, all his buddies from college and his jobs, and the entire Santa Barbara Police department, or at least all they could spare at the time. Even some past people who Shawn had helped put it jail and had gotten out already chipped in to help.  
Shawn was a friendly person. You couldn’t argue with that.  
I still couldn't really believe he was missing, but I put all my old detective work to good use anyway, just running the track. I was gonna find him, you could bet on God that I would.  
We searched for a week and a half, longer than any other person could go missing for and still have people care. Eventually, though, the search party numbers went down. We were tracing over the same places over and over again. The first house, the second location, all the woods, my house, repeat.  
We just couldn’t find him. Maybe we didn’t look hard enough, I don’t know. Maybe we just didn’t. Maybe we would have been too late anyway. I guess them closing the case, after all this time, I guess that means we failed. I guess that means he’s really gone.

Lassiter’s Statement Part 4  
I do believe Shawn Spencer, the victim, is still alive. He’s technically the grand prize for this psycho, whoever he may be, and I don’t think he would kill him after just 2 months. Maybe after a year. Maybe. Just because the case is closed doesn’t mean it’s a lost cause. It doesn’t mean we’re not still looking and working on it. It’s just not top priority right now. We have a little girl that we’re working with missing persons to help find, and you know that’s what Spencer would want us to really focus on.  
If Spencer is still alive, then he’ll get back to us. Back to Gus and his Dad and O'hara I mean. He’ll get back. If anyone could, it would be him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short but the next one is a real good one I promise


	8. Stopping by the woods

Juliet’s Statement Part 2  
After the case had been closed for a month, we got another lead. Miraculously, somehow, we did. It was a phone call. From Shawn. He was still alive. For then, at least, but that’s all that really mattered.   
He told us quickly and in hushed tones that he was okay and that he had managed to sneak his captor’s phone out of her pocket.  
We asked him for more information. Who she was, what did she look like, where was he, could he see outside, was there any recognizable landmarks, was he okay?  
He said he couldn’t talk for long, she was coming back. He said her name was Annie Duller, Corby’s sister. She apparently had no records. He could kind of see outside, the window was foggy, but he was positive he was in the woods somewhere, by a big oak tree. He would hear the highway nearby, too.   
Then he hung up, and I never heard from him again.  
We immediately got the search party together once more, calling everyone back, saying we narrowed it down. Not as many people came as the first time, but still enough. Enough to cover the possible locations. There were a few where Shawn could have meant. Lassiter took a group to the first one, a place the furthest away. I took the middle group, second furthest but still further than we had searched before. Finally, Henry Spencer took a group out. They were just on the edge of the woods, a place we had checked before, but maybe we had missed something. It was worth a try. Anything was worth a try.  
I don’t know what happened in the other groups, but my trip was uneventful. We looped around the area countless times, crossing the same old berry bush. We found nothing.  
That’s it. That’s all I was really there for so that’s all I can tell you.  
-Juliet O'hara  
Coroner’s Report Part 3:  
I wonder what was going through is mind, you know? I can’t really tell for sure but it looks like the guy hadn’t slept in a few days. There are some small lacerations on the bottom of his feet as well. He also hadn’t shaved in a while, I guess there wasn’t really time between all the kidnapping stuff, huh? Yeah, cause of death is pretty obvious, but there also a lot of old scar tissue and previous injuries. My diagnosis? He went through hell.  
Lassiter’s Statement Part 5  
I was assigned a group of people to help with the new search party. I revealed to the victim's family that it was unlikely we would find him, even with the new tip and confirmation that he was alive. We still had no clue if he was even in California anymore, let alone Santa Barbara. Still, everyone remained hopefully optimistic and of course we went out anyway. My group covered the ground in the farthest reach of the woods, which was the most possible place he could be held. We hadn’t checked this far before, still uncertain of where we were going and having nothing to really go by. Now, though, we looked near the side of the road, and observed the area around any big oak trees.   
There was a moment where we thought we may have found him, as we stumbled upon an old bunker shed like area matching the qualification that Spencer had described. However, it was empty, and there was no sign that anyone had been there in the past couple of years.  
We radioed in to Detective O'hara's group and she reported similar findings. Henry’s group was still searching, but they too said it was unlikely that anyone was there, they would have heard them already or seen any kinds of tracks besides animal ones.  
So after a few hours I told Juliet’s group to head on home, if they hadn’t found him by now they certainly wouldn’t in the dark.  
Later I sent my own group home and headed over to where the elder Spencer’s group was looking. I met up with him and told him that he too should retire for the night, we could come back out tomorrow.  
He refused. I wanted to convince him further but he was being too stubborn, so we set out for an allnighter. Burton Guster was there too, of course. He claimed if anyone would find Shawn Spencer it would be his best friend and partner. After everything that had happened, I could only nod my head and agree.  
That’s where 2 am found us, silently going through the woods with eyes more awake than ever before, using flashlights and looking for anything, I mean anything that could lead us to where the psychic could be being held.  
And then we found him.

Henry Spencer’s Statement Part 2  
We searched for hours and hours with no prevail, so when we finally found the clue that led us to his whereabouts we almost didn’t believe it.  
There it was though. A glimmer of blood on a tree and a strip of flannel tied around a small branch.  
No one but me knew what this meant. No one knew that this is what I trained Shawn to do, that this was where all my hard work as a father and teacher would pay off. Only I knew that the fresh blood meant that Shawn was alive. And free. And in the woods. And being chased.  
So, logically, I filled Detective Lassiter in, he set up a team, and since we could now basically confirm that Shawn was no longer in custody, we were able to make the noises we need to in order to locate him.  
So we started yelling.

Burton Guster’s Statement Part 2  
Why do I have to say this? Can’t Lassiter or Henry tell you what happened? And why do I have to say it out loud?  
(Pause. Guster laughs)  
Shawn did that? Of course he would, he would give his statement as a story. He loved his goddamn stories.  
(Pause)  
Fine. I’ll do it too. Never do anything alone buddy, right?  
(Written)  
“Shawn!” Gus yelled, filling in the gaps of silence in between other people’s calls. Lassiter had already radioed in to ask for backup. Now all there was to do was search.  
“I found another piece!” Henry called, and Gus briskly walked over to where he was pointing to a strip of cloth tied around the branch. It was messy and barely hanging on. “He’s in a rush. That means Duller it nearby.”  
“Duller!” Lassiter shouted in response, stepping up on a cut down tree. “Duller, we have the woods surrounded! If you give up now we can work out some kind of deal!” They heard laughter from behind them in response. They all turned around but saw no one there. Gus gulped.  
“Shawn?” He asked uncertainly, hoping it was him but knowing the giggling had come from a female. They heard crashing bushes in front of them now, so they spun again and took off running down the hill that they had been standing on top of. Then they heard a gunshot. Lassiter immediety cursed under his breath and aimed his gun towards the bottom of the hill.  
It seemed that the laughter came from there, suddenly. They weren’t sure how Duller had gotten down the hill so fast, but she was definitely down there. And probably so was Shawn.  
“Shawn?” Henry Spencer asked, determined not to leave the woods until they found his son. Gus looked up.  
“Henry, look!” He pointed to another chunk of fabric on the tree next to them. It wasn’t even partially tied. Instead, it was thrown lazily and hastily on top of the branch.  
“He has to be close by.” He looked around frantically. “Shawn!” He yelled. “Shawn!” He tried again.  
“Spencer, careful. Ms. Duller is still out here.” Lassiter reprimanded, but he too was looking around with a desperate look in his eyes.  
“Shawn!”  
“Shawn!” Gus also shouted. Now the entire search party was yelling except for Lassiter.  
“Quiet! She’s going to hear us!”  
“Shawn!”   
“Spencer!”  
“Shawn!”  
“I see Duller!” They heard a rustle.  
“She has a gun!”  
“Shawn!”  
“Everyone get down!”  
“Shawn!”  
“Drop the gun!” A shot rang out.  
“Shawn!!”   
“Shawn!”   
“SHAWN!”  
...  
“What?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go...


	9. Miles to Go Before I Sleep

Coroner’s Report Part 4:  
It seems as though the run through the woods caused a couple scratches on the victim. Nothing compared to the snapped neck I guess. That’s the cause of death, in addition to the other lacerations. Speed is a real killer, huh? Well, actually, technically that maniac woman was the killer, but...well you get the idea. The victim was a Detective for the Santa Barbara Police Department. Real shame. Think I might quit. Move to the mountains. It would probably help me unwind after this catastrophe.

 

Henry Spencer’s Statement Part 3  
We all couldn't help but grin when we heard his voice. Even in the heat of the moment, there was Shawn diffusing the situation. Even if that situation was his own kidnapping. Most of the flashlights had been dropped in the chase, but I had somehow held on to mine- not for long though. Within seconds it was thrown to another member of the search party and Shawn’s shoulders were in my arms instead. Lassiter ran down the hill, attempting to follow the woman who had shot the gun into the air in order to startle us and make her escape, and unfortunately it worked because we could no longer see her anywhere. It didn’t matter to me, though. All that did matter was that I had my son back. His loose fingers, unable to clasp, rested on my back as we gripped onto each other with as much force as either one of us could. Shawn grunted as Gus stacked himself onto the hug, also abandoning his flashlight onto the ground.  
The peace didn’t last, though. It never really does.  
Shawn jolted up and let go of us as we heard Lassiter yelling from the middle of the hill. He still wanted to be the hero, for some reason, as though escaping wasn’t heroic enough. I guess that’s just who Shawn was. He was always the one who saved the day. Not this time though. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here, would we. You don’t need official reports from all the witnesses unless an officer of the police department is killed.  
Right, I’ll finish up then. So Shawn raced down the hill, following the yells of Detective Lassiter, determined to save everyone. We yelled after him to stop. He still hadn’t said a single word besides his annoyed and sarcastic “what”. We had no clue if he was injured or not, but we assumed he probably was. It didn’t show, though, not in the way that he sprinted down that hill.

 

Burton Guster’s Statement Part 3  
Something just came over him. It was like he was possessed or something. Just, one minute he was running down the hill as Lassiter yelled, then the next second a gunshot went off and suddenly Lassiter was on the ground and Duller was in view and Shawn just….he just tackled her, repercussions be damned. He just grabbed her and they both went to the ground and rolled. Rolled right on down the rest of the hill. He was going so fast I wouldn't be surprised if they both broke a couple bones. I mean, it was like on tv in the football games. He had all this speed built up from his race down the hill and when they finally collided there were a few sickening grunts and then they were flying the rest of the way and they were spinning on the ground and there were crunches and when they rolled to a stop neither of them were moving and everyone knew. Everything was so still. We were so still. Shawn was so still, and then...and then we raced down after him, I think I sprained my ankle from running down the hill, and we got to them. We got to them and Shawn wasn’t moving. Henry said not to move him, but I didn’t know what else to do! How were we supposed to know if he was okay if we couldn’t even turn him over to look at his face? I told Henry that and he just looked at me in the way he used to when me and Shawn were kids and he knew Shawn had roped me into doing something dumb, like asking out the grocer at the store. I didn’t know anything was wrong with that, I actually thought she might have said yes, but Shawn knew. Everyone knew but me.  
Henry started crying and I wiped my own face free of tears, I don’t even remember when it had started.  
“We have to call an ambulance for Lassiter.” one of the searches said.  
“And for Shawn”, I quickly added, and everyone just looked at me again. They just kept looking at me and I felt like I was 7 years old again being laughed at by Amy from the store. Except no one was laughing and I couldn’t figure out why. We caught Duller! She was probably dead after a fall like that, and we had Shawn back. Shawn was fine. He was fine. Shawn was…  
The ambulance got there and I told them to be careful with Shawn because they could hurt his back or neck when moving him, he might have damage. They just looked at me too and rolled Shawn over gently and I saw his eyes.  
I saw my best friends eyes. They were open. And blank. And he had a stupid smirk on his face, like he had told one of his stupid jokes right before he died. I hadn’t got to hear it. I wonder what it was. I wonder whether he had said some quip to Duller as they stumbled, or maybe the smile was a prideful grin and he knew he had saved us. Maybe he didn’t even have to chance to say anything. Maybe his final words was that sarcastic “what” he had asked us with a small smirk what felt like ages ago. I wouldn’t know though. I wasn’t there for him. To catch him when he fell.  
I heard the EMT say something about Lassiter being okay, and then something about a broken neck, and an autopsy so they could hold the torture charges against Duller, who was apparently alive and being led away in cuffs by Henry Spencer himself, a blank look on his wet face. But that wasn’t right. That couldn’t have been right. What kind of life are we living where the hero dies and the bad guy gets away with a few scratches and broken bones. I couldn’t believe it. I kept waiting for Shawn to get up, to put a laugh with the now eerie smile he still sported. God, I’d do anything to hear his obnoxious laugh again.  
Everyone just moved on around me as I stood there staring at Shawn. And when they moved him I continued to stand there, staring at the indent in the grass where he used to be. Eventually I went home. I don’t remember how I got there, I just remember that I never saw Shawn again. They’re having a closed casket funeral. I’ll never see his face again. Or his bead necklaces. Or his flannels or his jeans or his dimples or the way his eyes used to light up. They just lit up.  
So that’s what happened. That’s the whole story. You have it all know, you can put it all together. The only person whose statement you’re missing is Shawn’s and you’re not going to get it. No one will ever get it. No one will really know what happened to him during that time where he was gone, and in a poetic way it’s better. It’s probably for the best that Shawn held onto that secret. He can keep it stored with all the other ones he never got to share. And no one will ever….no one will ever know. No one will ever know what happened to Shawn Spencer, except that he went through so much, so much, only to die from breaking his neck. From being the hero.   
And I’m so proud of him for it.

Coroner’s Report Part 5:  
So there it is. The final coroner’s report of Woodrow. Only fitting it’s of the body of Shawn Spencer. What a guy. They’re gonna put all these records of the case online or something, I heard. Make them public, so everyone knows what he did. I think I like that.  
Well, then, this is Woody checking out. One last time, for all of us, huh Shawn? Yeah. one last time. Bye now, buddy.  
Hope I see you again.

Interview with Psychic Shawn Spencer  
After the tragedy of the Duke back in November, I had a chance to sit down and talk with Shawn Spencer to see what he thought of the whole event. Here is the transcript as the psychic opened up about his plans for the future.  
Reporter: So, Mr. Spencer-  
Shawn: Please, just call me Shawn.  
Reporter: Okay, Shawn. What do you plan to do now that Duller has been killed and you’re officially allowed to return to work? Thinking about getting a desk job? Something slow?  
Shawn: Pa-lease. I think I would turn into a tortoise if I tried to get a desk job. Nope, I will be returning to my job at Psych, my private psychic detective agency.  
Reporter: Really? So soon?  
Shawn: Sometimes you gotta walk before you can run. I think Iron Man said that.  
Reporter: Yes, I believe so. But Shawn, doesn’t that seem a little dangerous? The Duke may have some supporters out there who want to finish the job.  
Shawn: A little copycat isn’t going to scare me. Besides, even if someone does come after me, I would get to go down in a blaze of glory. What’s better than that?  
Reporter: I don’t know, maybe living?  
Shawn: I’d rather die in an exciting way than live a boring life.  
Reporter: That’s pretty brave of you.  
Shawn: Bravery is my specialty.  
Reporter: Do you have any final words of wisdom for our viewers?  
Shawn: Of course. Everyone out there watching, or reading- I hear they might put these online- know that life is short, and if you’re gonna make it count, you gotta learn how to run with the bulls and swing with the monkeys. That’s what I do.  
Reporter: It shows.  
Shawn: ...Good.

In Memory of Shawn Spencer.  
“Whose woods these are I think I know.   
His house is in the village though;   
He will not see me stopping here   
To watch his woods fill up with snow. 

My little horse must think it queer   
To stop without a farmhouse near   
Between the woods and frozen lake   
The darkest evening of the year. 

He gives his harness bells a shake   
To ask if there is some mistake.   
The only other sound’s the sweep   
Of easy wind and downy flake. 

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,   
And miles to go before I sleep.”

-Robert Frost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it folks- the conclusion of Justice of the Duke. Thank you to those who stuck it out with me until the end. I know it's kind of morbid and sad, but I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
